


just your touch could cure my lonesome blood

by zach_stone



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 14:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17143187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zach_stone/pseuds/zach_stone
Summary: Four times all Newt needed was a hug from Hermann, and one time it was the other way around.(Or, sentimental cuddling: the fic.)





	just your touch could cure my lonesome blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [decadent_mousse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/decadent_mousse/gifts).



> It was only a matter of time before I wrote one of these 4+1 fics. This is a Christmas gift for the most lovely Mousse!!! Merry Christmas my friend! If there's one thing I know we both love, it's Newt Geiszler getting affection. I truly hope I provided the good h/c content you crave. I love you lots!!! <33 
> 
> title from "twins" by gem club. it's a sad song, but i promise this is not a sad fic.

Newt would always remember with perfect clarity the first time Hermann initiated physical contact with him. Newt was a very tactile person, so physical contact with Hermann was never that unusual — but every awkward high-five or pat on the shoulder or sarcastic handshake was initiated by Newt himself. Hermann always went along with it, sure, but this time was different. Newt probably would have remembered the moment regardless, because it was in the midst of one of his more memorably horrible anxiety attacks.

He’d had his fair share of anxiety on the job over the years, and was usually pretty good at hiding them until he could escape to the bathroom or his quarters to have a little breakdown in peace. But the aftermath of a particularly destructive kaiju attack left Newt with even more work than usual, and he was going on his eleventh straight hour in the lab. About an hour ago, his hands started shaking so badly he couldn’t trust himself with a scalpel, so he abandoned dissections in favor of desk work, but even that was impossible to focus on. He propped his elbows up on the desk and closed his eyes, shoving his face into his palms.

He almost jumped out of his skin when he felt a tentative touch on his shoulder. Lifting his head, he saw Hermann standing next to his chair, his hand on Newt’s shoulder. Hermann’s expression was unreadable — he didn’t look uncomfortable, exactly, just uncertain.

“What’s up?” Newt asked, forcing a grim smile.

Hermann cleared his throat. “Are you alright?”

“Sure,” Newt said, huffing out a laugh. “I’m… yeah, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Mm.” Hermann appeared unconvinced. His hand was still on Newt’s shoulder, a warm, grounding weight. Newt resisted the urge to lean into it. “Perhaps you should take a break,” Hermann continued.

Newt laughed again, but it sounded strangled. “Right, sure, I totally have time to take a break. Great idea, Hermann, thanks for your wisdom.”

Hermann sighed in irritation, and Newt was certain he was about to walk off to his own side of the lab again, but instead Hermann’s hand shifted so he was essentially hugging Newt’s shoulders. “If you don’t want me to do this, just say so,” Hermann said, in a surprisingly soft voice, “but I think perhaps it might help.”

With that, he leaned his cane against Newt’s desk and then brought one hand to the back of Newt’s head, moving him closer until he had his face pressed against the scratchy fabric of Hermann’s sweater and Hermann was fully hugging him. Newt couldn’t remember the last time someone had hugged him, and the tension in his spine melted as he sagged into the touch, letting Hermann hold him close for what felt like minutes. The tight knot of anxiety in his chest finally started to loosen, and one of Hermann’s hands was gently smoothing along his shoulder blades. From where his head rested at the base of Hermann’s sternum, Newt could hear the steady beat of his heart, no trace of the rabbity pace Newt’s had been going at for the past few hours.

Eventually, though he would have gladly stayed like that for hours, Newt lifted his head. Hermann’s eyes had fallen closed, but he opened them again at Newt’s movement. His cheeks were slightly pink, but his voice gave nothing away when he said, “Better?”

“Yeah,” Newt said, slightly dazed. He blinked a few times, trying to gather his thoughts as Hermann moved away from him. “How… how did you know that would work?”

Hermann grabbed his cane and looked at it in lieu of meeting Newt’s gaze. “I know you,” he said simply. “I’m glad to have helped. Now, er, back to work, I suppose. I’ve got so much to do. Excuse me.” He turned on his heel and hurried back over to his side of the lab. Newt watched him go, aware that his mouth was hanging slightly agape.

Neither of them brought up the hug again, but after that Hermann’s hand often found its way to the small of Newt’s back or smoothing along his shoulders whenever he got particularly tense. Hermann didn’t even make eye contact half the time, just offered the comfort and went on his way. Newt had no idea what to make of it.

 

After the Drift, a lot of things made sense. Their feelings for each other revealed, ping-ponging between them and growing in intensity before the kaiju drowned out everything else. In the mad rush to the Shatterdome and the moments after, Newt barely had time to process that the war was _over_ , let alone what anything he’d seen in the Drift with Hermann meant. He’d stuck close to Hermann as long as he could in the aftermath, but LOCCENT was in chaos with celebration, and at some point they’d gotten separated. Newt could see him now, on the other side of the room, swept up in conversation with some of the j-techs. Newt had managed to dodge a mob of people earlier, brimming with questions about the Drift and the kaiju and the Anteverse. It was all a bit… much. His head was swimming, every bone in his body ached, and the only thought drumming through his head was _it’s over, it’s all over_.

He was starting to wonder why it felt more like a lament than a celebration.

“‘Scuse me,” he said, pushing his way toward the door. He felt eyes on his back as he wormed his way out of LOCCENT, into the equally crowded hall. It was like the streets of Hong Kong all over again, shoving through crowds in a blind panic to get to the shelter. His stomach twisted at the thought — he had a _lot_ of shit to mentally sort through later — and he walked until he found a quiet corner, tucked away near the lab. No one was down there, so no one was around to watch Newt ease himself onto the ground and pull his knees to his chest like a child, bowing his head and sucking in panicky breaths.

“Newton?”

Hermann was hurrying down the hall towards him. Newt swiped his hand up under his glasses — when had he started crying? — and smiled thinly up at Hermann when he came to a stop in front of him. “Hey, bud.”

“What are you doing out here all by yourself?” Hermann asked.

“Oh.” Newt shrugged, not meeting Hermann’s eyes. “Just needed some air.”

“Would you like me to leave?”

“No!” Newt said, embarrassingly quickly. “No, I — you can stay. Please.”

Hermann nodded, and before Newt could protest he was easing himself down to sit on the floor beside him. With a badly concealed wince, Hermann stretched out his bad leg, leaning heavily against the wall.

“Hermann, you’re gonna hurt yourself sitting down here.”

“I rather think I’m going to be in pain for a while regardless,” Hermann said with a wry smile. “So to hell with it.” He reached over and took Newt’s hand.

They sat like that for a long moment, just quietly, Hermann stroking his thumb across Newt’s knuckles. Newt sniffled again, fresh tears coming no matter how much he tried to contain himself.

“Newton,” Hermann murmured. “Is everything alright?”

“Um, yeah,” Newt said, wiping at his runny nose with his sleeve. “Sorry, I don’t know why I can’t stop crying.”

“You’ve had a very taxing few hours,” Hermann said kindly. “It’s understandable to be emotional.”

“I guess so,” Newt agreed. Then, softly, almost ashamed of himself, he added, “I don’t exactly think that’s why, though.” He didn’t need to explain further. Hermann had been in his head — hell, he knew Newt well enough _before_ that to know exactly why he was crying on the floor in the wake of war. “You must think I’m an awful person,” Newt mumbled.

“Of course I don’t,” Hermann said. “I _understand_ , Newton. This has been our life for so many years, and it was miserable at times, but… well, it was certainly a rush, wasn’t it?”

Newt laughed slightly at that. “Yeah. I don’t think I know how to slow down, now.”

Hermann squeezed his hand, tight, and Newt glanced over at him. There was a softness to his gaze, and something else that abruptly brought all of the post-Drift revelations to the forefront of Newt’s mind.

“Hermann…” Newt breathed. He wanted to reach out, close that small distance between them, but he was shivery and tearful and all he could do was sit there.

Hermann let go of his hand and cupped Newt’s face in both hands, smoothing his thumbs over Newt’s cheekbones. A soft, shared breath, and then Hermann leaned forward and Newt’s eyes fluttered closed as Hermann’s lips met his. The kiss was gentle, unhurried, and Hermann’s mouth was warm and soft. Newt reached up to rest his hand at the back of Hermann’s neck, keeping him close. There was nothing but the distant sounds of celebration, the much closer sounds of their mouths moving against each other, the slightly hitching breaths that Newt couldn’t control because he was _still_ crying, goddamn it.

Newt realized that he was covered in dried blood and dirt and who knew what else, his nose was running, and he kept gasping tearfully into Hermann’s mouth in a way that couldn’t possibly be construed as sexy. He pulled back, watching Hermann’s eyes slowly open, the fond upward curve to the edges of that lovely mouth. “Shit, this is _not_ how I pictured our first kiss going,” Newt muttered.

Hermann’s expression fell. “I’m sorry, did you not want to…?”

“No!” Newt said quickly, eyes widening. “Wait, I mean, yes, that was fine, you’re fine, it’s just — I’m all grimy, and I’m like a fucking leaky faucet over here.” He gestured to his own face. Hermann looked relieved, and they shared a shy smile. Hermann kissed Newt’s forehead, grime, blood and all.

“We should get to medical,” Hermann told him. “God only knows what damage you’ve done to yourself.”

“Ha, don’t blame me, blame the kaiju,” Newt protested, and Hermann graciously offered him a soft chuckle that his weak attempt at a joke certainly didn’t deserve before pulling him into an embrace.

 

Frankly, once they left medical (final verdict: nothing’s broken, plenty’s bruised, and the damage to both Newt’s and Hermann’s scleras is temporary) Newt wanted nothing more than to pick up where they left off, frantic kissing that would give way to stripping each other down and losing themselves in each other’s bodies. Hermann seemed more than on board with that plan, but by the time they made it to Hermann’s quarters, they barely tumbled into the bed before falling asleep, hard. They woke some hours later, at which point Hermann insisted on showering — separately, to Newt’s disappointment — and getting some food. After that, things in the Shatterdome grew rather hectic, and it ended up being nearly a week before they finally had an evening alone. It was more than worth the wait, if you asked Newt; the remnants of the Drift bouncing around in their skulls made everything two-fold, echoed. He could hear Hermann’s pounding heartbeat in his ears when Hermann’s hand pressed against the sweat-damp dip in the small of Newt’s back, could taste the frisson of pleasure that curled Hermann’s toes as he came apart with his face buried in the crook of Newt’s neck.

They fell asleep tangled in each other’s arms, but when Newt woke up, they’d moved apart. Hermann was sleeping on his side facing Newt, his face soft and relaxed. His hair was a mess, cowlicks sticking up every which way. Newt watched him for a few moments, his chest aching. Hermann looked like — _home_ was the first word that came to mind. Newt wanted desperately to hold him, but he didn’t want to disturb him when he looked so peaceful.

As if on cue, Hermann’s eyes opened, slow and bleary. He caught Newt’s gaze and smiled, reaching for him. Newt curled against Hermann’s chest immediately. Hermann’s hand scratched gently against his back, sending tingles down Newt’s spine.

“Good morning,” Hermann whispered, pressing his lips to Newt’s temple.

“Mm, morning.” Newt clung to Hermann’s waist, smushing his cheek against Hermann’s collarbone. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“Not exactly,” Hermann said around a yawn. “I could just. Feel you. You think very loudly, my dear.”

Hermann’s penchant for pet names became obvious approximately fifteen minutes after their first kiss, and Newt still wasn’t over it. He grinned against Hermann’s bare skin. “Sorry. I really wanted a Hermann hug.” Hermann’s arms tightened around him, and Newt sighed contentedly. After a moment, he asked, “D’you think it’ll fade? The Drift bleed?”

“Undoubtedly, seeing as we won’t be getting any further exposure,” Hermann replied. “It already feels weaker than it was, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Newt agreed, a bit forlorn. “I’m gonna miss you being in my head. Even if it’s too loud and wakes you up.” He was making a joke of it, but there was no denying a part of him feared the loss of this most intimate connection, and what it might mean for their relationship when that was gone.

“Just because I can no longer read your mind, doesn’t mean I won’t still know you,” Hermann said. He gently tilted Newt’s head until they were making eye contact. “I’ll miss it, too, but we will still have each other even when it fades.” He leaned in to press a kiss to Newt’s mouth.

“You have morning breath,” Newt informed him.

Hermann scoffed. “So do you.”

Newt grinned, rubbing their noses together, and Hermann’s annoyed pretense quickly faded back into genuine contentment. “Hermann?” Newt whispered.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

Hermann ran his fingers through Newt’s messy bedhead. “I love you, too, darling man.”

 

Looking back on it a decade later, it was those little moments of intimacy Newt missed the most. Being held, so tenderly and closely. Not like he was some fragile thing, close to breaking, but like he was something to be kept safe. _They_ took that from him. He was so starved for touch by the time he and Hermann were fighting their way out of an elevator that when Hermann flung his arms around Newt in a tight hug, he was so momentarily thrown that all he could do was let it happen. Of course, it was over all too soon, and then everything fell apart.

It would be romantic to say that Hermann was the very first thing on his mind when the Precursors were wrenched from his mind, but the truth was that he passed out more or less immediately after. When he woke up in the infirmary, though, it was with Hermann’s name on his lips. He grabbed the arm of the nurse who was checking his vitals. “Where’s Hermann?”

They let Hermann in fifteen minutes after Newt regained consciousness, and for a moment they just stared at each other, Newt in his hospital bed and Hermann standing at the foot of it, leaning on his cane like it was the only thing keeping him from collapsing.

“Hi, bud,” Newt croaked, breaking the silence. Hermann sagged, and for a moment Newt thought he really _was_ going to collapse, but instead he just launched himself around to the side of Newt’s bed and dropped to sit on the edge of it, gathering Newt up in his arms.

Newt’s body was singing with the physical contact. He felt immediately warm all over, and he clutched the back of Hermann’s shirt with both fists. He was grateful that Hermann wasn’t holding back for fear of hurting him or anything dumb like that — Newt sort of _wanted_ to be crushed, to fold into Hermann’s embrace until he was encompassed by it completely. He could burrow his way into Hermann’s chest and stay there, tucked away inside his ventricles. He’d never been hugged this close, one of Hermann’s hands cradling the back of his head against Hermann’s shoulder and the other tight around his middle.

“I am never letting you go again,” Hermann whispered fiercely.

Newt let out something between a laugh and a choked sob that suddenly caught in his throat. “Fine by me.”

 

Newt woke up alone. At one point, this was the norm for him, but for the past five years, he’d grown used to a warm body in bed beside him again. He rolled over, frowning at the rumpled sheets where Hermann should have been. He kicked off the covers and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He could hear, faintly, the sound of the television from the living room. When he padded out of their bedroom and into the main part of the house, he saw the TV was tuned to a news station, playing the usual footage that was displayed every year on the anniversary of the Breach’s closing — the end of the first kaiju war. Newt had lost track of the days, he’d forgotten the anniversary was already here again.

Hermann was standing by their back window, staring out into the yard with a mug of tea in his hands. He looked pensive; he looked sad. That just wouldn’t do. Newt shuffled over to him and wrapped his arms around him from behind, nuzzling the space between his shoulder blades before hooking his chin over Hermann’s shoulder. “Hey, you.”

“Hello,” Hermann said softly, leaning back into the embrace.

“Bed was cold without you,” Newt mumbled. He could see their garden boxes through the window, empty now that it was winter. He couldn’t wait for spring, so he could get on his hands and knees in the dirt and plant flowers while Hermann bossed him around from the porch and then kissed his dirt-smudged face.

“I’m sorry,” Hermann said, pulling Newt from his wandering thoughts. “It’s often hard for me to sleep on the anniversary.”

“I know.” Newt shifted up on his toes to kiss Hermann’s cheek, lingering, and Hermann hummed. He brought a hand to rest over Newt’s where it hugged against Hermann’s stomach. “You wanna talk about it?”

Hermann hummed again, thoughtful. “I… for a long time, this day was very painful for me. It’s not just the anniversary of the end of the war, you know.”

Newt smiled, tinged with melancholy. “Of course I know.” He shifted his hand beneath Hermann’s, lacing their fingers together and rubbing his thumb over Hermann’s wedding ring. “I’m sorry you’re sad.”

“I’m not so much anymore,” Hermann said. “Not now that you’re here.” He chuckled softly. “I don’t know why I even left the bed this morning. All I need is this to remind me that everything’s alright now.” He punctuated his words with a brief squeeze of Newt’s hand.

Newt thought about all the times over the years that Hermann’s touch alone had been a comfort. He was grateful in went both ways. He nosed at the side of Hermann’s face until Hermann turned to catch his lips with his own. Hermann held their linked hands against his chest, and Newt could feel the way his heart sped up as the kiss deepened. They only parted because the angle was awkward for both of them.

“Come back to bed,” Newt said. “So I can kiss you properly.”

Hermann needed no further convincing, and they stayed wrapped up in each other for a long while. It was, without a doubt, Newt’s favorite place to be.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on twitter @hermanngottiieb for more sappy content


End file.
